Break the Skin
by Ta Paixao
Summary: Returning to Washington from a deployment, Sgt. Edward Cullen isn't ready to go home to face his family and estranged fiancé. Instead, he crashes with Sgt. Jacob Black and his childhood best friend, Bella. He knew this was a bad idea.
1. Chapter 1

**BREAK THE SKIN**

**By Ta Paixao**

**Beta: Hadley Hemingway**

**CHAPTER 1: POP SMOKE**

**EPOV**

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><p><strong>14 February 2007<strong>

**En Route: Forward Operating Base, Camp Vigilance **

**Local Time: 0835**

"Hager would suck you off!" Black shouted beside me over the rumble of the 5-Ton's Diesel engine. "With the lights off, you can pretend."

"Fuck you." I kept one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick shift. The truck groaned and wheezed as I mashed the clutch and jerked the stick to get the sonofabitch in gear.

"I'm just saying."

"You talk too much."

We'd be lucky to make it to Jalalabad on this tranny. Fucking motor pool cocksuckers. Like they had anything better to do than just keep the goddamn trucks running. But what the fuck did they care? They didn't have to drive them. Most would never set foot outside the wire. If it wasn't the sand getting sucked up into the intake, it was the the cheese-grater roads tearing up the suspension and throwing the axle off balance.

"You're due a pity blow, at least. Take advantage of it while you can, Cullen." Black's Kevlar wobbled on his head like a dash ornament. He had about as much sense. "Or maybe you're in the mood for a revenge fuck."

I cut him with a glare.

"Just think about the look on that bitch's face if she got a load of you in high definition, pounding a hot piece of ass."

"Shut the fuck up."

He put his gloved hands on the dash and thrust his pelvis. "Ah, yeah. You little slut. You like that? Huh? You gonna come for daddy?"

I veered toward a pothole and gave it some gas. The right front tire dropped into the wide divot with a loud grunt of metal on metal. Black flew forward, head first into the dash.

"The fuck what was the for?"

I grabbed the binoculars between us and threw them in his lap. "Mouth shut, eyes open."

"Panther Three." Hale's voice crackled in my ear over the comms. "Hey, dumbass. Drive much?"

"Just checking Black's reflexes, Top. Over." I waved my hand out the window to First Sergeant Hale riding behind us in the four-vehicle convoy.

"Roger test dummy maneuver. Stay sharp up there. Out."

Black scowled beside me, but it shut him up. He held up the binoculars, scanning the desert landscape.

We were on a routine supply drive from Kabul to a forward operating base ten klicks southwest of Jalalabad. The route took us through a mountain range along the Kabul River. We drove this mission twice a month. Every time we set out from the joint forces base at Bagram Airfield, I expected to die.

For two hours, we were a massive moving target in the valley, flanked by the mountain range on either side. The perfect vantage for an ambush from overhead. Steep cliffs of rock and dirt with low brush and trees to conceal men along the ridge.

I held my breath as we made the gradual curve southeast that took us alongside the river. One way in, one way out. The road was too narrow to turn around, even if we did spot the threat before we were right on top of it. This was stand-and-fight territory.

That was what seven months of this shit did to a person. Every time we went outside the wire, we braced for the worst. A shoe on the side of the road sent my balls into my stomach. A passing car had me reaching for my M16. Everyone who didn't wear the uniform was a threat waiting to happen. Everyone was the enemy. It was only a matter of time.

But God forbid the jarheads ran out of Doritos.

I thought I hated the desert in the summer. The winter was worse. Forty degrees in daylight, below freezing at night. And the motor pool motherfuckers couldn't keep the heater in this damn thing running for more than a week.

"All I'm saying..." Black turned to look at me and tipped his Kevlar back off his forehead. "There's a special place in hell for someone who breaks off an engagement by tagging you in a Facebook post."

"What is it about my face that makes you think I want to talk about this shit?"

"Is there a another guy back home?" He tried to dig through the layers of cold-weather gear to scratch his balls. He shifted and twisted on the seat next to me.

It was fucking useless. In full battle rattle, forty pounds of stiff and unyielding material, I could barely move. An hour in this roving beast over uneven roads was like taking a ride in a clothes dryer with a sledgehammer. Whether from the cold or the travel, I couldn't feel my nuts anymore.

"Maybe we find out who 'Jody' is and pay him a visit when we get back." Black started peeling out of his field jacket.

"The fuck are you doing?" I glanced over, then snapped my eyes back to the road and the ass of the 5-Ton in front of me.

"We could get a couple airsoft rifles and scare him a little." I heard the rip of Velcro. From the corner of my eye, I saw Black tear open his flak jacket.

"Black, goddamnit. Secure your vest."

"Give me a second." He reached into his pants, leaning back in the seat.

"Now."

"I'm sitting on my left nut, man. It's gonna fall off if I don't get some circulation."

"Jesus Christ. Next time you're riding McCarty."

"There," he said, yanking his hand out of this crotch. "Operation Sac Salvage-"

My ears were ringing before my brain registered the sight in front of me. The truck ahead of us burst into a blinding fireball. It leapt into the air and crashed down on its left tires, then went over on its side. I slammed both feet on the brake, bracing my hands on the wheel. We skidded into the inferno and right up the back of the truck. Boxes flew flaming into the air. The heat filled the cabin and scorched my face. Muffled voices in my ear were overtaken by the sound of gunfire popping off from all directions.

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><p>"Hands off cocks, on with socks!"<p>

I jerked awake in my bunk at the sound of the platoon sergeant's voice booming off the cement walls of the twelve-person bay. Sweat coated my skin. My heartbeat echoed in my skull. I panted and gasped for air as I tore away the blanket tangled around my legs.

"Colonel wants everyone in formation in one hour," he announced, as he made his way down the center of the bay between our bunks. "Bus is leaving at 0400. Do _not_ be the soldier who makes me late to see my wife tonight."

Black peered down at me over the edge of his bunk. "Pop smoke, brother. We're going home."

The last 30 days at the demob station at Fort Hood had been a countdown that I dreaded with each passing day. I couldn't go home. Not to the apartment I shared with the woman who no longer wanted to marry me, and not to the family and mutual friends whom I had spent the last two months dodging since Tanya called off the wedding.

I already missed the sandbox.

"Don't sweat it." He dropped a photo in my lap. It was the one that had hung over his desk in Kabul. "You two will get along fine. Bella's a great girl."

I wasn't thrilled about the plan. Crashing with Black and this girl wasn't an ideal situation. But I didn't have many options. So I took him up on his offer. Just long enough to figure out my shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**BETA: Hadley Hemingway**

**CHAPTER 2**

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><p>"Fall in!"<p>

Boots scuffed the tile floor as we shuffled into formation on First Sergeant Hale's order. Inside the lobby of the reserve center, we stood shoulder to shoulder and dripping wet from the rain.

"Attention!"

I snapped to. Shoulders back. Arms locked. We smelled like pits and ball sweat. Six hours in the air and another three on the road from Fort Hood to Tacoma. The hot breath of our collected members hung tangible in the air.

"At ease." The commander stood at the front of the room.

I spread my stance and placed my hands behind my back.

"I'll make this quick," the captain began. "We've all got people waiting on us. First, let me congratulate you all on a job well done. Each one of you can be proud of the professionalism and high level of integrity with which you performed your duties."

Every commander recited the same speech. We're all superstars. It's been an honor.

"Now, we won't see each other again until July. So, remember, if you need anything, contact your platoon sergeant. And Mrs. Allen would like me to remind you all that she is in the office five days a week. Don't hesitate to reach out."

When you've blown through your combat pay and the repo man is hooking up your car, call Family Programs. When your wife leaves you, call Family Programs. When you wake up with a tube in your stomach and a needle in your arm, ask the nurse to call Family Programs. If you end up in jail, call First Sergeant. Then call Family Programs.

I stared straight ahead at the razor burn on the back of McCarty's neck.

"Welcome home, soldiers. They're all yours, Top."

First Sergeant shook the captain's hand, then turned his attention to us. "Fall out."

Forty-seven of us entered the drill hall to cheers and whistles. The room was crammed with friends and family holding balloons and posters. Red, white, and blue streamers lined the walls. Camera flashes went off as our unit split through the crowd. Because that's what a soldier needs straight off the bus from a deployment: loud noises and blinding light.

I forced my way through the suffocating mass of bodies closing in, everyone shoving their way to their husband, wife, girlfriend, and brother. I didn't stop moving until I hit the far wall, then I dropped my ruck and leaned against the painted cement blocks.

They didn't know it yet, but it was all downhill from here. Husbands kissed their wives. Dads held their newborn babies for the first time. Two men got down on one knee in front of teary, smiling women.

That was me two years ago when my mom pulled the ring off her finger and put it in my hand with a kiss to my cheek. In front of the soldiers who had seen me at my worst, I'd knelt at Tanya's feet and promised her my best.

Women pulled airport gift shop teddy bears from their rucks and hoped the tiny humans clutching Daddy's leg still remembered Mommy. Brothers and fathers embraced, crying for maybe the first time in their lives.

Then come the thousand-yard stares and wordless conversations. Then come the fights and empty bottles piling up in the kitchen trash can. Girlfriends asleep in their beds, while their men are cleaning semi-automatic pistols on the couch at 3:00 a.m., infomercial on mute.

We were the conquering heroes back from a righteous war. Tomorrow we'd be unemployed head cases on borrowed time.

Hooah.

A woman walked in from the back of the room to my left. Long brown hair dripping from the rain. A slender figure in tight jeans and a zipped brown hoodie. She looked lost, unsure of herself, as she stepped inside and scanned the room. Our eyes met. Her lips parted, then she bit down.

After nine months of celibacy, that was all it took. I imagined her on her knees, those lips wrapped around my cock, and my hands tangled in her hair. This girl was a cat in the tall grass. A stealth killer. My dick twitched when her eyes brightened with recognition and she hurried toward me. A jog at first, then a dead sprint.

"Jake!" She jumped on him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms locked behind his neck. Black held her, squeezed her hard. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes.

Fuck me.

I grabbed my ruck from the ground and slung it over my shoulder. I'd seen her picture, knew what to expect. Photos of this woman should have been illegal. False fucking advertising. The image had done nothing to capture the raw energy and primal sexuality of her presence. And that kind of trouble was something I needed like another hole in the head.

I slipped by them as she slid down his body. I was almost gone. A few feet from the door. Then a hand wrapped around my bicep. I should have chewed my arm off. Instead, I turned and stared into the dark, electric eyes of the woman looking up at me.

"Cullen," Black said, "meet Bella."

She rose up on her toes and slid her arms over my shoulders. I held my breath as she brought her warm, soft lips to mine. She left no space between us. The full length of her body was pressed to mine. My semi-erect cock nudged her stomach. My fingers twitched to touch her, but I remained stock still.

She released my mouth to brush her lips against my ear. "Thank you for saving his life."

Yeah. All downhill from here.


	3. Chapter 3

Beta: Hadley Hemingway

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><p>In the parking lot of the reserve center, Black and I pulled our duffle bags from the bus. Damn thing got heavier every time I hauled the four-foot sack of dead weight over my shoulder. A rusty red Chevy pulled up behind the bus. Through the rain-splattered windshield, I watched Bella toss her full body against the door to force her way out of the bulbous cab. Her feet dangled before she jumped and splashed down in a puddle.<p>

I looked at Black. "That your POS?"

"Nope." He nudged my shoulder and approached the shuddering beast.

Hot smoke spewed from the tailpipe. Black watched Bella yank and grunt, bracing her foot on the rear bumper to pull down the tailgate. Dipshit. I tossed my bags over the side of the truck bed. They landed in three inches of brown sludge.

"Sorry." Bella gave up fighting and helped Black load his bags. "I was going to borrow-"

"Don't sweat it."

We went in opposite directions to round the vehicle, and both stopped at the open driver's door.

"Umm… " She looked up, smiling with a sort of mocking glint in her eyes. "Are you lost?"

"I'll drive."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Bells?" Black slid across the bench seat from the passenger side. "Let him drive."

Her flirtatious eyes lingered on me a moment before she glanced at Black, waiting for a punchline about the men ganging up on her. Then her smile faltered. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

It was a two-hour drive from Tacoma to the small town where Black and Bella grew up. The sky pissed on us the the whole way, and the wipers on this junker didn't work for shit, just spread streaks across my field of view.

"Want to roll up the window?" Black said. "I'm getting spit on over here."

I ignored Black and kept my eyes on the traffic speeding past us on the highway. The Chevy rattled like it was about to throw a rod, and coughed out black plumes every time I shifted gears. I was afraid the wheels would fall off if I pushed her over 60.

"Yeah, probably don't want to do that." Bella grabbed a rag from the glovebox and wiped the condensation off the inside of the windshield. "There's really only enough oxygen in here for one person. The heater just blows fumes."

The cab smelled of exhaust, but it was more than that. This girl sat wedged in beside me, brushing her leg against mine, her shoulder digging into my arm. She smelled like hot, wet woman.

This was a terrible idea.

I thought about the last time I saw Tanya. She didn't like seeing me off before a deployment with the hugs and crying and waving American flags as the bus pulled away. So we said our goodbyes in bed.

She was gorgeous lying across the tangled sheets. Her blonde hair wild across the pillow. Tan skin smooth under my fingers. I ran my hand over her knee, along the soft skin of her thighs, up her flat stomach, and between her breasts.

_"I don't understand why you would volunteer for another deployment." She wove her fingers into my hair, tugging me toward her lips._

_"They needed bodies." Leaning on my forearms, I kissed her shoulders, her neck._

_Tanya pulled away, shoving me off her. Her mouth thinned as she stared across the room. "The Army has plenty of bodies. They don't need yours."_

_"Hey." Lying on my side, I tilted her chin toward me. "The money is good. When I come back, we'll have enough saved for a honeymoon and a down payment on a decent house. I'm doing this for us."_

_She got off the bed, slipping on a long sweatshirt with her back to me. "Seems like you're just in a hurry to get away from me again."_

_"That's not true. Baby..."_

_"In the three years we've been together, I've seen you for seven months. What kind of relationship is that?"_

Those were the last words she said to me before I left. I should have known then. And maybe I did. It occurred to me that perhaps I'd let it happen, that I'd taken the easy way out.

Over there, I had a purpose and people who depended on me, people who trusted me with their lives. I knew who I was and what I was worth. Being back in the "real world" was like regressing back to childhood. Tanya stood over my shoulder while I cleaned the kitchen or the bathroom, snapping instructions at me. As if I hadn't majored in cleaning toilets during Basic and AIT. I practically had a master's degree in KP duty.

At work, a micromanaging dipshit didn't trust me to drive a damn forklift, never mind the DoD had entrusted me with an automatic rifle and millions of dollars of heavy machinery. Taking orders I could do. Being treated like an imbecile for $10 an hour was just fucking insulting. And then what? Go home to watch a couple hours of TV, crash, and do it all again in the morning so I could pay the cable bill, the power bill, the car insurance. Jesus fuck. No wonder men my age were swallowing the barrel of a 9mm.

When I returned from the last deployment with shrapnel in my leg, I'd had the fear of death in me. I didn't want to die alone. When I volunteered to go back, maybe I'd been ready to die, just not ready to get married. And just my luck, I survived.

"Take the next exit," Bella said.

Forks, Washington, was our destination. A quaint little town where the options were logging, getting drunk, or some combination of the two.

As I drove past the scenery of boarded-up storefronts and decaying mom-and-pop shops, I could understand why Black joined the Army. He was the only one who showed up to drill once a month with a dumb smile on his face. I never saw the guy more excited than when we hit Tarmac in Kabul.

"Last one on the left."

I parked in the muddy gravel driveway of a two-story house with dingy white siding and green chipped-paint shutters. The residential street of modest homes crowded the narrow road, like the thick walls of the forest and overgrown yards were slowly reclaiming the landscape, pushing out the last vestiges of man's artificial influence.

"Welcome home, boys." Bella shoved Black out the passenger side of the truck as I killed the engine. "You guys can get settled in, and then I thought we could go out for a drink and-"

The tailpipe shot out a hot, black cloud of smoke. The explosive crack ricocheted off the houses and trees, loud as a .50 caliber at close range. I looked at Black across the bed of the truck. For just a moment, his eyes went blank. He flinched, shoulders tense with his arms stunned midair toward his luggage.

"Hey, you okay?" Bella put her hand on his shoulder, running her fingers down his arm. "Jake?"

"Black," I snapped sharply.

He blinked and focused on me. "Grab your shit and get inside."

"Yeah." Black smiled, lost somewhere inside his head. "Waiting on you, asshole." Hauling both his heavy bags out of the truck bed, he hustled toward the front door.

Standing in the rain, Bella watched me as I pulled my soggy duffle and ruck out of the brown water and muck. She'd figure it out, eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

Beta: Hadley Hemingway

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><p>Every time I shipped out, I essentially became homeless. A ward of the federal government. Looking at nine months to a year overseas, I would vacate another studio apartment and leave my shit in storage. A year ago, I was ten days to touchdown in the States when Tanya informed me she'd gotten us a new apartment.<p>

With my mother's ring on her finger, she brought me home to a one-bedroom with hardwood floors, granite countertops, and his-and-her bathroom sinks. Tiffany teal walls decorated with watercolor paintings and close-up photographs of oil-slicked pavement and blades of spring glass. Everything was perfectly coordinated and dressed. Right down to the fancy handmade candles I wasn't allowed to light.

It wasn't a home. We were living in a goddamn showroom. Like stepping onto the set of her personal scripted reality. Weeks passed, and it became painfully obvious that it was her world and I was just another prop. When she needed a dick to ride. When she needed the trash taken out. When she needed me to be rude to some chick at a party she didn't like. When she needed constant fucking affirmation that her ass wasn't sagging and her tits were still firm and her cunt was still tight.

I sure as fuck wouldn't miss finding her bloody tampons in the bathroom trash or fishing two feet of blonde hair and I don't know what out of the shower drain.

Bella's house was different. The living room looked like it was decorated out of a backwoods bait & tackle shop, every stick of furniture older than me. There were no faux fur throw pillows like two lethargic cats on either end of a tufted sofa. Just a faded brown leather couch with sagging cushions. This place felt lived in. Real.

"I gotta hit the head." Black dropped his waterlogged bags inside the door and shook the rain from the short, sharp ends of his hair. "Dibs on the shower." A trail of shiny bootprints followed him through the living room and around the corner.

The house smelled like furniture polish and vacuum exhaust. Bella had probably spent the whole morning cleaning for our arrival, and here we were, tracking in mud and dripping an inch of water into the tiny nicks and scratches of her weathered floorboards.

"Yeah, so..." Bella toed out of her shoes and kicked Black's bags up against the wall colored in black scuff marks along the baseboards. "This is it. Sorry your stuff got all wet. Hope nothing's ruined."

"It's fine."

She unzipped her sweatshirt and peeled the rain-sticky fabric from her body to hang on the coat hook next to a man's flannel jacket. "You can use my shower upstairs if you want." With her back to me, she pulled her long-sleeve shirt over her head to reveal a wet, skin tight tank top. "Drop your stuff here. I'll get you some clean clothes and throw yours in the laundry with Jake's."

"Sure. Thank you."

I followed as she gave me the nickel tour: the kitchen and laundry room to the left, Black's room and downstairs bathroom to the right. Up the worn, uneven stairs with incidental dents in the walls, she stopped at the top to pull a pyramid of well-used blue towels from the linen closet.

Tiny, shimmering drips travelled the length of the dark strands of her long hair, down her arms. She looked good like this. Wet. Better than she had any right to standing in front of me. All I could think was she needed the damn towels more than I did. I wanted to fucking bury her in them.

"That's me at the end of the hall," she said. "Bathroom right there. And this one's your room. Holler if you need anything."

"Got it."

"I'm going to make some coffee. Want?"

"Please."

"Great," she said, walking away. "Take your time."

As I stepped into the small white-tiled bathroom and turned to close the door, I caught the dim outline of Bella in her room at the other end of the hall, stripping out of her jeans. She should have put me downstairs. For that matter, Bella should have left my ass standing on the curb.

In the shower, steam formed a cloud around me while I stood under the hot spray and lathered on some body wash that smelled like sugar and suntan lotion. My fingers traced over the jagged red shrapnel scars and dimpled outlines of bullet holes that would never quite match the texture of the skin around them. My dog tags clinked as I scrubbed at my itchy legs and the stippled indentation left behind by 16 hours of scratchy standard-issue socks and ACU pants stuffed in and laced tight inside stinking tan door kickers.

For a while, I pressed my forehead to the tiles and let the heat rinse down my back, releasing the ache of travel from my muscles.

My family knew I was due in today. The Yellow Ribbon volunteers would have called to organize the homecoming reception: who was going to fill the helium balloons, who would tape handwritten banners to the walls. A committee to hang paper streamers from the drop tile ceiling with little paperclip hooks. Mom and Dad would have politely declined, because, well...

They knew I was back, and they would have realised by now I wasn't going home. There wasn't going to be a big family meal waiting in my mother's kitchen. No need to put out the good napkins. Just my car covered in treesap and birdshit, sitting low on deflated tires in the parking lot of an apartment building.

Let them keep Tanya. She was the one they wanted anyway. The perfect daughter-in-law their fuck-up son was lucky to have. Too good for him, but she'd make him respectable, presentable. A shiny coat of paint and perfume on an otherwise utter disappointment.

I wondered if my dad was already running odds on how long it'd take before I was strung out in some squatter's village with a needle in my arm. His son kept trying to die a hero so the old man could frame a photo next to a folded American flag, but the sonofabitch wouldn't be a good little boy and bite it already, coming home with another medal on his chest instead of a Y-incision.

Cold water stung my face. I shut off the faucet and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my hips.

Two quick knocks struck the door. Bella entered and the steam surrounded her, escaping the small, humid space. I cinched the towel tighter and clenched my jaw. At least now she wore an entire outfit.

"Here." She set another pile of fabric on top of the tiny towel mountain on the sink. "I brought you some clothes. I think they'll fit. You look about his size. Shirts might be a little tight on the shoulders. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I grabbed a bunch of different stuff."

"Thanks," I said, dripping on the bathmat.

"Come down when you're ready. I want to take you guys out for a drink and grab a bite to eat, if you're up for it."

"Sure."

Her eyes fell to my chest and the ugly landscape left over from the souvenirs dug out of my soft tissue. Bella's easy, doors-have-no-meaning, smile turned flat. "We're in the kitchen. Coffee's waiting."

Either this woman was completely oblivious or she was sent here to punish me for a lifetime of sins.

My bedroom-until I figured out my next move or this woman drove me insane-smelled of aerosol air freshener and laundry detergent. Just big enough for a queen bed and single dresser. The blue walls were decorated with the outlines of missing picture frames. No ornaments or knick-knacks added any personality to the otherwise blank canvas.

Curious, I looked through the closet and drawers. Men's shirts, jeans-a full wardrobe from head to toe, with a row of scuffed shoes lined up below the hanging dress pants.

She was right; the button-up green plaid shirt and jeans were a reasonably good fit. Definitely not Black's though. I had a good three inches on him and a leaner build. As much as I appreciated the thought, I skipped the boxers to go commando. Wearing another guy's underwear was right out of the question.

My phone rang. I fished it from the pocket of my damp ACU pants and stared at the picture of Tanya lighting up the screen.

It rang again, daring me to answer. Maybe she wanted to know when I planned to get my shit out of the apartment or what to tell her father about going back to my dead-end job at his warehouse. At the moment, I didn't have an answer. Never seemed most likely. Losing all my worldly possessions to a bonfire sounded more appealing than being in the same room with my ex.

She made the choice for me when the phone stopped ringing and let me off the hook. As long as I could, I planned to employ a strategy of avoidance. In a few months, maybe I could get on another deployment. Active duty was an option. Then I could just forget the past and leave all of them far behind.

"Let's go, Cullen! My liver's thirsty."

A terrible plan was better than no plan at all.

By 22:00 I had a gut full of greasy, fried garbage and Black was on his third beer. Bella brought us to a bar near the highway outside town. The kind of place with bras hanging from the ceiling and three broken locks on the bathroom stall. The mirror behind the bartender was framed in a collage of employee IDs from the paper mill down the street. Every time I set my elbows on the wood tabletop, my sleeves stuck to the surface.

"Cullen and I were just getting off fire guard duty when some of the guys were coming back from the bar off post," Black said, pausing only to flag down the waitress for another drink. "And we're heading back upstairs to our room inside the barracks when we see Byrd staring at the wall. Like, he's just standing there with his nose pressed to the wall. He's talking to himself. Or the wall, I guess. Muttering."

The place was packed, even for a Friday night. Three muted televisions ran football games to a soundtrack of Bon Jovi and Journey from the juke box. In the back of the bar, the staff was setting up a platforms for a stage. A couple tables away, four women made repeated glances our way, giggling amongst themselves.

"Jack, straight up." The forty-something waitress with sagging tits and leather skin set the glass in front of Black and a cider for Bella. "You still okay with water?" she asked me.

I nodded, trying not to breathe in too deeply the rich oak smell of whisky. "I'm fine."

"You want to try some of mine?" Bella nudged her cider toward me. "It's good."

"He doesn't drink." Black downed the last of his glass and wrapped his hand around the fresh one.

"Someone's got to drive," I said.

"So, anyway. We go over to Byrd like 'What the fuck, man? You lost?' The guy starts wailing on this cement wall. Like beating the shit out of it. Kicking. Punching. He's mumbling some kind of nonsense about 'You better not fuck with my shit' or whatever. Cullen grabs his shoulder. This guy's leaving bloody knuckle prints on the wall..."

The platinum blonde at the table over there wore a short, high-waisted black shirt. The kind that didn't tuck under when she sat down. The kind that made her bare ass touch the chair. Her panties sitting on french fry crumbs and spilled beer. She had high, firm tits just too big to fit in one hand. In dim light, she could pass for Tanya. From a certain angle.

"Now Byrd is this short, scrawny guy. Like 180 pounds in full battle rattle. You could bench this guy with one arm. Cullen put his hand on Byrd's shoulder and the guy turns and starts pummeling him, just blindly raining down hell, right? But he barely comes up to here on Cullen, so Byrd socks him right in the nuts. Like BAM! Crotch shot."

I met her in a dive like this. I'd blown off the blind date disguised as a dinner party my mom had engineered to set us up. Went to the bar instead. A hot little blonde bought me a drink and leaned in close while she talked about how she discovered her daddy's porn stash when she was thirteen. How she used to make herself come rubbing the stiff nose of her teddy bear against her adolescent pussy.

Her dad was into kinky shit. Spanking. Anal. Skinny, flat-chested girls with ponytails and knee-high rainbow socks. Tanya liked taking it from behind with my hand around her throat. She got off on blowing me in semi-public places and slapping herself in the face with my cock.

The next time I saw her, she was sitting in my mother's kitchen wearing a cashmere cardigan and a little gold cross around her neck. I wanted to blurt it out right there, to tell my mother how her precious-virgin-in waiting liked letting men finish on her tits. Instead, we had quinoa and duck for dinner.

"I expected Cullen to go down crying. Drop to his knees. No shame in that. That shit hurts. Not this guy. Like by 23, he's already nailed so much pussy he's got no feeling left in his balls. But this psycho motherfucker grabbed Byrd by the throat and lifted the kid off his feet. Slammed him against the wall. Shit was loud, too. The crack of his skull."

"Seriously?" Bella looked at me, smiling with this sort of awed confusion. "You're a little scary, huh?"

I didn't have an answer for that.

"Nah, he's a big pussy. Reads poetry in his rack."

"You should try it sometime," I said, peeling my eyes from the blonde's hand sliding over her thigh under the table.

"Poetry? No thanks."

"Reading."

"Fuck off." Black swallowed another mouthful of his drink. When he opened his eyes, they were stained with red spiderwebs overtaking the white.

"You two are cute." Sitting between us, Bella reached out and slid her hands over each of our shoulders. "Like an adorable old married couple."

Her hand lingered on Black's shoulder as her other slid down my arm and stayed tucked into the crook of my elbow. I thought about snapping it off. Hers or mine. Didn't matter.

"Anyway," he said, grabbing Bella by the waist to drag her closer to him. "Cullen has Byrd hanging there, dangling in his hand, and he says, 'No.'"

"No?" Bella snickered, "That's it? I don't get it."

"Like a dog. No! Bad Scruffy!" Black laughed, looking to me for a reaction. "And Byrd started crying. I mean, he's kinda starting to turn blue. Cullen's got a death grip around his throat. But he's balling like a fucking baby. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, please, please.' Starts pissing himself. Like he thought Cullen was gonna fucking murder him. So he lets Byrd go and tells him to get in his rack and stay there. Sleep it off. The guy is just obviously hammered. Cullen drops him on his feet and he fucking crawls! I swear to God. This fucking dude drops to his hands and knees and crawls all the way up a flight of stairs and into his room."

"That's not funny!" Bella let go of my arm to smack his. Thank fuck. "That's actually really sad. He could have had alcohol poisoning or something."

"C'mon, that shit is funny. Right, Cullen?"

I shrugged.

"See? I'm with Edward on this one." She wrapped the soft, slender hand around my arm again. Because this girl had no concept of personal fucking space. "Should I call you Edward? Or do you prefer Cullen?"

"Whichever."

"Cullen doesn't have a sense of humor. Got it shot off in a training accident in Basic, right?"

At least three times a day I wanted to punch Black in the throat.

"I'm going to take a piss."

As I passed her table, the blonde stood. I wove my way through the crowd, dodging stumbling drunks and sweaty men shouting at the brain dead refs on TV.

The moldy unisex bathroom was littered with roach carcasses and wadded paper towels. It smelled of piss and bleach. Phone numbers and nearly illegible insults scrawled across the chipped-paint walls with marker and lipstick. The toilet was backed up with a full bowl of tissue and brown human sludge, so I unzipped my pants and aimed my stream down the sink drain. Using my elbow, I flipped up the tap and pumped soap into my palms, scrubbing the door handle STDs and as-yet-unknown strains of rat viruses off my hands.

When I came out of the bathroom, the blonde waited for me with a coy smile. Anyone who would offer to perform a sex act in that shithole had no business playing coy.

"I'm Mormon," I lied, and slipped past her to drop a few bills in the cigarette vending machine. Nicotine and caffeine were the only addictive substances I could trust.

She followed me and ran her hand up my chest. "That's okay. I'm a Buddhist."

"I don't think you know what that means," I said, and I walked off.

As I took my seat, Black had another full drink in front of him and he and Bella were occupied with looking over my shoulder.

"She's hot," Bella said, smirking. She ran her fingers through her hair and flipped the messy, wavy strands to the other side of her head.

This woman was easy, effortless. She wore no makeup, no intricate illusion. And it was like she didn't even know any man in here would trample ten of those platinum knockoffs to get to her.

"Not my type."

"You smoke?"

"Only when I'm not drinking." I slapped the pack against the heel of my palm and ripped the plastic from the box. Then it dawned on me I didn't bring a lighter.

"Here." Bella held the tiny flame of her Zippo to the tip of the cigarette hanging from my lips. "Never leave the house without fire. And a knife. It's the only thing that separates us from the apes."

"And thumbs," Black slurred.

"Apes have thumbs, jackass."

Smoke filled my lungs. The nicotine worked its happy way to my brain and told everybody to simmer down, it was all better now.

"No, they don't."

"It's a good thing you're handsome," Bella said to him, laughing over the rim of her cider. "Otherwise you'd be hopeless."

The screech and shrill ring of feedback pierced through the bar. Through the tinny projection of a bullhorn, a man spoke. "Starting in one hour, Friday Amature Fight Night. The first eight to bring $50 and sign up right down here get a shot at the $200 first-place prize!"

"Oh, hell yeah!" Black got to his feet and dug his wallet out of his jeans. "Come on, Cullen. You and me."

"It's all you. Have at it."

"Ah, don't a be a pussy. I'll let you take the first shot."

"Pass."

"Get up." Black squared his shoulders and his eager smile thinned. There were only bad intentions behind his eyes.

"Jake, relax. He doesn't want to. Sit down. We're having a good time. You really want to go home with a broken nose?"

"Fine, you both suck." He slammed his drink and dropped the empty on the table, rattling our glasses. "I'll go solo."

Bella watched him stalk away then turned to me. "What was that?"

Wasn't really my place to say.

Pumped full of liquid courage, Black got into that makeshift ring with a chip on his shoulder. He fought with blind rage and gave no mercy. One after another he broke his opponents' will. A hairy man sprawled on the canvas like a beached, bloated walrus. A wiry hillbilly with less sense than teeth charged with blood in his eyes and ate a stiff jab for his trouble, shattering his spigot nose.

After every poor fuck he knocked out tapped out, his anger only compounded. Because it wasn't my face turning to mud under his fist. Black could send a dozen men to the hospital, but it wouldn't change the fact that he hated himself, and it was all my fault.

"That was horrific," Bella muttered as the bar cheered Black with his hands raised.

All hail the king of the mountain.

With a busted lip and one eye swelling shut, Black came to the table $200 richer. He set three shot glasses on the table, the leather waitress behind him to fill them.

"Raise 'em up!"

Bella glared, arms crossed. "For what?"

"Me." The crusty gash in his lip cracked open, oozing blood from his cocky grin. "I owned those cocksuckers."

"You beat up some drunks in a bar for money. Congratu-fucking-lations. Forgive me for not kissing your ass."

"Fine. Be a bitch about it."

Bella pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. "Fuck you, Jake."

I wasn't about to stop her if she wanted to take a swing a hit. He'd earned it.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove, but I'm not impressed."

"Get used to it, sweetheart. This man's a stone cold killer."

Bella swiped a shot from the table and tossed it in his face. "You're a fucking twat." Then she slapped him and stormed out.

Everything about this girl made me want to mount her. If she called him a twat again, I might have to. With a mouth like that on a body like hers, I couldn't be held responsible for my actions. At the moment, the baser part of me had a mind to make him watch.

Black wiped the burn of alcohol from his eyes and looked at me. "You're not going to say anything?"

"I don't need to."

He downed the last two shots as I stood and threw a few bills on the table for the leather waitress. As I turned to leave, Black grabbed my shoulder with a bit too much force. He really didn't want to test me.

Shrugging his hand away, I looked him dead in the eye. "Don't ever come at me like that again."


	5. Chapter 5

Beta: Hadley Hemingway

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><p>Valentine's Day, three months ago. The docs spent five hours digging bullet fragments and shrapnel from my body while my blood pressure plummeted. I crashed twice. Experienced bursts of consciousness amidst a haze of morphine. I felt nothing, but imagined the throbbing red ends of every nerve screaming at pieces of jagged metal plucked from the muscle.<p>

No one was waiting to welcome me back to life when I woke in the recovery bay after surgery. A Light Colonel came in a couple hours later. Told me I was lucky. Most of my wounds were shallow. Stationed at Bagram, I was treated immediately. Didn't have to wait to stabilize and medevac while bleeding out as fragments worked their way toward major organs. I'd live. I'd walk. The Army wasn't done with me yet.

Roger that, sir. Hooah.

Thirteen days later, a man approached a security checkpoint with a group of Afghan nationals. He detonated himself, killing 23 people and wounding 20 more. It made me appreciate the little things, like centimeters and cigarettes. The ways by which we live and choose our slow deaths.

The first time I saw Black after I was released from medical, we sat at the ends of our bunks, staring at each other. No words. Just the silent acknowledgement of the secret we shared: that he was a coward and I was a liar. I tossed my Bronze Star down a storm drain at Fort Hood.

The ride back to Bella's place after the bar felt a lot like that. The two of them silent and stewing, itching for a fight, heat rising off the backs of their necks. By the time we walked through the front door, they were at it again. Black went straight for the kitchen and snapped the cap off a bottle of beer.

"I think you've had enough," Bella said, kicking her shoes at the wall.

I took the liberty of locking the front door behind her and hung her keys on the coat hook.

"Bite me."

"Real mature, Jake. Well done. Really."

I went upstairs to my room and shut the door. Not that it did any good. As I stripped out of my shirt and laid back against the headboard with a paperback, their voices vibrated up through the floorboards.

"I don't need a nanny. Feel free to get a puppy if you want something to smother."

"The hell is wrong with you? It's me, Jake. What's with the tough-guy act?"

"Who says I'm acting?"

"I do. I know you. This is..."

"What?"

"Talk to me."

"Jesus, Bella. Get off my fucking case. You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"I'm trying to be your friend!"

"You're being a first-place cunt."

She better have planted her foot in his crotch for that one.

A door slammed and shook the walls. Angry, deliberate footsteps stomped up the stairs, down the hall toward Bella's room. Another bang and rattle shivered through the house. After a few minutes of silence, I thought the storm was over.

_Knock, knock. _

"You up?" Bella stood in the doorway, a black and gold "Army Strong" sweater hanging nearly to her knees, dangling over bare legs. The kind they give out as recruitment swag. The sweatshirt, not the the legs. Those were not standard issue.

"Sure."

She closed the door behind her and padded over on bare feet to sit in the center of the bed. Facing me, she folded her legs under her ass. Bella stared at me. In the eyes at first, then at my ugly souvenirs. She displayed no pity in the crease of her brow or the way her bottom lip curled under her front teeth. Just questions.

Tanya and I used to have fights like that about one thing or another. The honeymoon period of fucking like rabbits every time we saw each other would last a couple weeks, then it was "What's wrong? Why are you so distant? Did you just check out her ass? Are you fucking someone else?" By then, I was already looking forward to the next time I boarded a bus or a plane to somewhere no one gave a shit about answers to those questions.

"You really do read poetry. I thought he was making that up." Bella took the book from my lap and flipped through the worn pages. "Were you an English major in college?"

"Didn't go to college."

"Oh. So why all the notes? Every page is filled," she said, skimming the sloppy scrawl in the margins.

"Helps me remember things I don't want to forget."

"Huh."

Bella handed me the book and unfolded her legs to cross them Indian-style, giving me a shot of her black panties. No shorts. I stared at the Army star in the center of her chest.

"I just came in to say sorry for..." she waved her hand toward the door, "all that."

"It's fine."

"It's nice to have a full house again. I'm glad you're here. Both of you."

"Roommates move out?"

"Not exactly. Sort of a long story." She smiled and shrugged.

Maybe Bella didn't want to talk about it, but she needed someone to listen. To this or anything, really. I saw in her shy eyes the desire to sit in the company of another person and have a civil conversation. Because Jake's homecoming had been a spectacular failure.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told her.

Her attention wandered around the room and landed on the borrowed shirt on the bed. Leaning back on her palms, Bella scrunched the fabric between her fingers. When she looked up, the only question left in her eyes was whether she should trust me.

"My dad died recently of a heart attack. Few months ago he had a double bypass, so I left school to move back home and help during his recovery. You know, get him back on his feet."

"I'm sorry."

"We weren't close. Hadn't been in a long time. Like have you ever woken up one day and realized your family is full of complete assholes?"

Nail on the head, lady. "I get that."

"My dad's one redeeming quality was that family meant something to him. He didn't have to like you, but he'd never hang you out to dry. When you needed him most, he'd have your back. Blood is blood."

"So you came back for him."

"So I came back. I was all he had left."

"I take it mom isn't in the picture, either."

"Yeah," she said with a sarcastic huff, "you could say that."

"So what, this is your brother's room? Where's he?"

Bella picked at the loose threads of her sweatshirt, concentrating on her fingers. Her lips thinned. Memories played across her face, images I couldn't see but understood just the same.

"You don't have to-"

"My brother was bipolar. Around my freshman year of high school he started displaying symptoms. Like one weekend he came home with a truckload of scrap wood he'd found and had this whole project set up in the backyard. He said he wanted to build a boat. So he spent two straight days working morning to night, and then he lost interest. The next time he bought a drum set. The time after that I woke up to a kitchen full of pies. Dozens and dozens of pies."

She laughed to herself. A forced, sad sound. "I learned that those were his manic phases. He was fun and happy and full of energy. He wanted to take me hiking or surfing on the spur of the moment. One time he came and dragged me out of class in the middle of the day to go on a weekend camping trip, only he hadn't told our parents we were going. When we came back, Mom and Dad had to call off the Amber alert. Then came the lows when he wouldn't get out of bed for days at a time. He wouldn't talk to anyone. Eventually he dropped out of college. That was about the time our mom left. She couldn't deal anymore. He took off a couple weeks later. Cops found him near the Canadian border. Shot himself in the head."

Tears fell over the rim of her eyes and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt curled over her fingers.

"I'm sorry." It was all I could think to say. "I didn't mean to..."

"Your turn." Faking a smile, she gathered her hair on the top of her head and tied it in a loose, lopsided knot. "Tell me something about yourself."

"Like what?"

"Well, for instance, you could tell me why you're hiding from your family."

Shit. I scrubbed my hands over the five o'clock shadow on top of my head. My hair was already noticeably longer than it was this morning when I buzzed it in Texas. "Bella, I- "

"Come on, don't leave me hanging here. I'm feeling like the chick at the party who always clears the room when she starts drunk-crying at 3:00 a.m."

"Don't worry," I said, biting back a smirk. "That twat downstairs beat you to it."

Bella threw her head back and laughed. It was a beautiful, uninhibited sound, and it looked good on her. Natural. I liked it more that I'd put it there.

"Oh my God," she said, pointing her finger right in my face. "You're smiling!"

"What?"

"No, no. Don't do that. No hiding. You smiled. I saw it."

"So?" I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Now you have to tell me what I want to know. Otherwise I'm going to tell everyone that Edward Cullen once smiled, and then there goes your reputation."

"Damn, you're a snarky little shit, aren't you?"

Her mouth dropped open. Eyes wide, she sat up. "You did not!"

I shrugged, tucking my hands behind my head. "Did what?"

Bella sat up on her knees, hands planted on her hips. "I am not a yo-yo; do not toy with me, Cullen."

I breathed out a laugh, licking my lips. This girl had spirit. I could give her that. "Or what? I'm twice your size, missy. Army-trained and battle-hardened. And, you know..."

Just for shits and giggles.

"Don't you dare..."

Because I kinda liked getting her riled up.

"You're a girl."

"Oh, no." She cracked her knuckles, shaking her head. "Now you've really done it."

"Don't pick a fight you can't win," I warned, enjoying the way her eyes lit with mischief.

"I told you, Cullen. I had an older brother. Bet your ass I can hold my own."

"Go on, girly. Get some."

Bella lunged at me, claws out. A tidal wave of soft dark hair smacked me in the face. Her hands touched my skin and I forgot where I was, who I was. I caught her, held tight. I pulled her to my chest. My hand grabbed the back of her neck and I sunk my teeth into her bottom lip. She made a sharp sound of shock as her lips parted and she stuck her tongue in my mouth.

That first taste of her-it drowned me. Suffocated me. My blood turned to battery acid. Then she rolled her hips, her nearly bare pussy grinding on my cock. In a violent outburst, I grabbed her ass in both hands and flipped us over, pinning her beneath the full weight of my body. She wrapped her legs around my hips, begging me.

I had my hand around her throat and my jeans undone before my senses returned.

"Fuck," I hissed, shooting upright and off the bed. "Get out."

"Edward, I'm sorry. I-"

"Get the _fuck_ out."

Worse than what I might have done was the humiliated look on Bella's face as she ran from the room.

No, I could not be trusted.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

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><p><strong>AN: **Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed. I am so happy for the positive response to this story so far. I hope you continue to enjoy! And a special thanks to TLS for pimping the story. 3

BETA: Hadley Hemingway

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><p>I thought about leaving that night. Packing up my shit and getting as far away from Bella as possible. Black was my only good reason to stay, but I had a whole lifetime of reasons to run.<p>

Rosalie's only sin was an attraction to vice. Before me and the hell I pulled her through, she was just a good girl with a curiosity for looking in dark corners.

Back then, we were all walking, talking stereotypes bred by our parents' money and mistakes. A bunch of prep school punks finding new and interesting ways to entertain ourselves and disturb suburbia. We totaled Mercedes to get BMWs. Spent our monthly trust fund allowances on clothes and new toys, but these things only pacified us for so long. Then booze and pot and a few hits of acid. It wasn't enough. There was still too much money left over at the end of the month. Too many highs we hadn't yet tasted.

We boarded the CEO daddy's yacht on the Sound at 2:00 a.m. to do blow off his little girl's ass. Trashed ski lodge hotel rooms in Whistler while hopped up on speedballs. Set the Congressman's show horse loose through campus on a cocktail of Biphetamine and Dexedrine with a dildo in its ass. This was art. This was disruption for the sake of no one and nothing.

I banged the new headmaster's daughter in his office. Got her to suck coke off my dick during morning affirmation in Taylor Chapel. Rosalie's only sin was an attraction to me, and getting caught. She didn't know the rules. Hadn't picked up on where not to hide your stash or how to pull off Sunday brunch with Mommy and Daddy without looking strung out and hungover.

We expected them to cut her off for a while. Take away the AmEx and car keys. Bastards tossed her out of the fucking house. Buh-bye, baby. Love of our life. Apple of our eye. She was on the street within a month. Turning tricks in two. Choked on her own vomit in three. Goodnight, sweet Rosalie.

By then it was June. They mailed my GED to the rehab facility while I dried out. From there I got a ride to the Army recruiter's office. A month later I was on a bus to Basic.

When I met Tanya, she had no soul to lose. Thought maybe she was my answer: an incorruptible addict just like me. I couldn't drink. I couldn't take drugs. But I could use this woman to act out every debauched sexual instinct my depraved mind could conjure. And it worked... for a while. Until I began to feel the emptiness. The hollow, black, and dissolute condition of my being. It wasn't her fault, but Tanya was slowly sucking the marrow from my bones. If I managed to stay away from her long enough to get her out of my system, I'd be able to thank her one day for saving me from marriage.

Lying in the bed after I turned out the light and locked the bedroom door, I thought about Rose and my family and the girl in rehab who masturbated during group.

I was my parents' dirty little secret. Indulge in all your naughty predilections if you must, but do so _discreetly_. Do _not_ email everyone you've ever known a manifesto on the selfish, privileged, and destructive nature of everything they stand for. And for fuck's sake, do not _enlist_ in the Army. Become an officer, if you must. Apply to West Point.

That night, having run Bella out of my/her/his room, I stared at the dark ceiling and thought about how much I wished I was still in the sandbox. But I didn't think about drinking or how quickly I could score an eightball. So that was something.

Bella was _something_: beautiful and real. An honest, decent human being. She didn't deserve me or the myriad of ways I would ruin her if given the chance. Best she kept her distance and we figured out a way to cohabit without distractions. Because I had apparently talked myself into staying.

The next morning I expected to wake up to Black standing over my bed with a knife to my throat telling me to explain myself. Instead, I walked out of my room and into several neat, folded piles of clothes lined up outside the door. The smell of bacon traveled from the kitchen with the clink and scratch of metal on metal and sizzle-pop of grease jumping in the pan. I took my laundry and dumped it at the foot of the bed. My boxers in tight squares. Socks rolled with their matching pairs. She even folded my six-foot Army issue duffle bag, which was a bit like wrestling a fitted bed sheet into a symmetrical pattern.

I hit the head to shit, shower, and not even consider shaving. I didn't need to be in uniform for another 79 days. Tanya hated me with facial hair. Something about giving her pussy stubble burn. Maybe I'd grow a beard.

Downstairs, Bella stood at the stove with her back to me, legs hanging out of the same black sweater. On the kitchen table, a spread of pancakes, hash browns, and scrambled eggs.

"Good morning." Bella turned with a skillet of bacon in hand. "Hope you're hungry." She scraped the crispy strips on a plate and set it on the table. "Take a seat and dig in before it gets cold."

I stood at the edge of the tile, watching her set utensils for two. "Where's Black?"

"Left early to go see his dad."

"I didn't think they were talking."

"They aren't, exactly. But he goes over there about once a year. Checks on him. I guess he figured now was as good a time as any."

"Right."

I nearly relapsed after my last deployment, which was when I realized I could be sober or in the same room with my parents, not both.

"Look, about last night—"

"Sit." Bella opened the fridge to pull out juice and butter. "Eat."

Fine. I took the chair across from hers and waited until she took her fill before helping myself to a little of everything.

"How'd you sleep?" She reached across the table to fill my glass with juice, talking around the bite of fluffy pancake in her cheek.

"Fine. Thank you."

Eating in silence was easier than looking her in the eyes, so I devoured half my plate before I came up for air. Glancing at her, my glass an inch from my lips, I found her staring at me with an amused grin.

"You eat fast."

I washed down my food and wiped the grease from my lips. "Army thing. In Basic you're given about five minutes to shove as much down as you can handle with drill sergeants yelling at you to go faster. Sort of becomes habit."

"Well, I'm not going to rush you. Relax. Taste it first."

"I am. It's good. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She gave me a satisfied nod, and didn't hide her interest in watching me finish my plate and go back for seconds.

"You two okay?" I asked.

"Oh, sure." Bella pushed back from her empty plate, stretching her arms over her head and ruffling her messy bed hair. "Not the first time someone got drunk and acted like an asshole, right? He's earned the right to blow off some steam."

"Last night..." My elbows landed on the table, hands scrubbing over the prickly ends of my hair. "I'm sorry. For all of it. Won't happen again."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I accept your apology."

"You do?"

"Of course." She picked up her plate and took it to the sink, her back to me with the water running. "Let me know when you're ready to answer my question."

Well, shit.

The worst thing about reasonable people is how fucking reasonable they are.

After sitting a moment like a shell-shocked imbecile, I went around the table to gather the rest of the plates and glasses. The phone rang; it took me a second to realize where the sound came from. Bella had to be the last person in the country with a home phone.

"Hello?" Bella wedged the phone against her shoulder, scrubbing the skillet over the sink. "What happened?" She dropped the pan and shut off the water, wiping her soapy hands down the front of her sweater. "I'll find him. Thanks for calling, Billy."

I knew the answer before I asked the question. I was just surprised it came so soon. "What's wrong?"

"Jake. He took a swing at his dad."

"I'll drive."


	7. Chapter 7

Beta: Hadley Hemingway

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><p>I didn't know what to do with my hands. My fingers itched to grab the phantom steering wheel of the side-seat driver. My foot felt for an invisible brake pedal every time Bella drove up the ass end of a tractor trailer hauling felled trees en route to the paper mill. Windows down, I tilted my face into the breeze and sucked up the salt air scented by damp forest and car exhaust.<p>

"This is killing you, isn't it?" She glanced at the side of my face, pausing at the stop sign more out of muscle memory than active awareness.

I let her drive in the interest of efficiency. She knew her way around town, and if looking for Black wasn't to become an all-day affair, it was easier to play the passenger than take directions. Didn't mean I wasn't concentrating really fucking hard on not reaching over and snagging the wheel.

"Is that an Army thing, too, or are you just naturally controlling?"

"It's a trust thing."

"You don't trust me or… "

"Anyone."

"But I thought that was sort of the point? Trust the guy next to you to have your back. Over there, I mean. Right?"

"I trust myself." In that context, at least.

Most of the people who enlist in the Army do so out of a lack of options. The swell of patriotism that comes from being dirt poor.

"That sounds lonely," she said, slowing down to canvass the parking lot of another bar for a silver F-150 with Army plates.

This town had a bar on every corner and twice as many churches.

"Think of the dumbest dumb fuck you went to school with. That kid who couldn't find his own dick in the dark. Now imagine you're dangling off a cliff. He's got your lifeline in one hand and something shiny in the other. Do you trust him?"

"That's not much of a choice."

"Exactly. I prefer to drive."

Bella pulled into a parking space facing the street and let the engine idle as she folded her arms over the steering wheel. The truck grumbled and stuttered, puffing black smoke out the back.

"He's not here. You want to call him again?"

"If he was going to answer the phone, he would have."

We'd driven around for an hour, having covered one end of town to the other. If only for Bella's sake, I tried not to look concerned. Combat teaches person a lot about himself. Some people don't like what they learn.

Being on a deployment is not unlike rehab. They tell us what to eat, when to sleep. Cut off from the outside world, we piss in pairs and shit in pairs and jerk off under the covers next to four others silently holding their breath, rubbing furiously for those few minutes of fantasy fulfillment behind their eyes. I used to sneak up to the roof of the clinic with a book and a pack of cigarettes just to get some fucking privacy. I was not built to be in the constant company of others.

"Is there somewhere else he might go?" I asked. "Somewhere quiet?"

She ran her hands through the long, wavy strands of her dark hair. Reflections from chrome bumpers and glinting mirrors lit her profile. I'd already gotten used to her smell-brown sugar and sunscreen lotion. The bottle of body wash in the shower had a fancier, more exotic name for it, but that's what it smelled like to me.

"I know a place." Bella wrestled the truck into gear and hopped the curb to lumber into traffic.

Wherever her instincts were leading, the brick shops and clapboard houses gave way to narrower lanes and encroaching forest. We drove through miles of nowhere. As other cars became less frequent and the wildlife sang louder through the trees, I appreciated Black for wasting my time. There were worse ways to blow through a morning.

"How much has Jake told you about his dad?" she asked, talking over the wind buffeting through the open windows.

"Not much. Doesn't talk about home, except for you."

She smiled and brushed the windswept hair from her eyes. "He's a vet. Marine Corps."

"So he's an asshole."

Bella smothered a laugh. "You're such a cliche."

"Nine jarheads out of ten..."

"Billy's a hardass, but he isn't a bad guy. The two of them have just always rubbed each other the wrong way. He didn't want Jake to enlist at all. Wanted him to stay home, settle down, that kind of thing. He'd never admit it, but I think Jake sort of idolizes his dad, or at least the idea of him. Joining the Army was part spite and part admiration."

"There are worse reasons."

Bella yanked the black elastic from her wrist and raised both arms to gather her hair. I lunged across her lap, grabbing the wheel as we cruised at 50 mph down the vacant two-lane road. My heart shot up into my throat, and I held my breath.

"The fuck, Bella?"

"Relax." She placed one hand at the top of the wheel, the other on the back of my hand locked in a death grip. "We're building trust."

I snatched my hand away, recoiling into my little corner of the cab. The idea to tuck and roll crossed my mind. This chick was batshit or suicidally reckless. Neither was a good influence on me.

"Do that again, and I'll shave your head."

"Think I could pull it off?"

I didn't look for her answering smirk.

"All I'm saying is, I've known Jake my whole life. What happened last night and this thing with his dad, he isn't usually like this. It's a phase, and he'll get over it. I think he's just stressed out."

One of the great epiphanies in an addict's life is getting sober and listening to the excuses and denials of others just like us, still coming to grips with their issues. It's then we realize how completely transparent and futile our efforts have been. But it seemed rude to burst Bella's bubble. She was an enabler, albeit a well-meaning one.

"He's lucky to have you," I said, watching as the trees broke to reveal the rocky coastline coming into view.

Bella pulled up to a gravel parking lot that overlooked a black sand beach. A sheer cliff and rocky outcroppings framed the mouth of the secluded cove. In the distance, a tiny island jutted up out of the grey water. It was a gorgeous picture. A place where I could imagine sitting for hours outside the reach of other voices. There was no sign of Black's truck.

"Damn." She killed the engine and slunk back on the bench seat. "This was a waste of gas. I'm sorry."

But I wasn't in a hurry to leave.

"What's the deal with you two?"

"The deal?" Bella pressed her back against the door, sunlight beating warm on her bare arms. The intelligent smile on her lips said more than her words, as she stretched one leg toward me. "You make it sound like an arrangement. He's not pimping his body for a place to live, if that's what you're getting at."

"You're friends," I said, not jumping to the bait. "But is it a brother-sister thing or friends with benefits?"

"Why do you care?"

"Feel free to tell me to fuck off." Dangling one arm out the window, I braced my knee against the dash.

Bella was a talker, like Black. She'd tell me if only to have any conversation. And maybe I liked it a little that she wanted to play with me. A little. I wasn't going to touch, but I could look.

"We fooled around some in high school, yeah, but we weren't going to prom together or anything. Jake was popular." She rolled her eyes, acerbic in her delivery. "I did have one serious boyfriend."

"What happened to Mr. Serious?"

"Well… " Sucking on her bottom lip, Bella pulled her hair down and let it hang out the window, catching and twirling in the ocean breeze. "Maybe I was more serious than he was."

"You've got my attention."

"I caught him fucking a flautist after the Homecoming game." She laughed, giving me permission to enjoy the image of a band girl bent over a popcorn cart under the bleachers. "Good lips, I guess."

"At least it wasn't a French horn."

"Or, God forbid, an oboe." Her toe pushed my knee as she stretched her leg across the bench seat. "Jake found out and kicked his ass. Laid a holy beating on the guy. After that, no one would come near me. I was cock Kryptonite for all of senior year. I swear I heard balls receding when I walked the halls."

Dipshits. "Hold out for a man willing to lose a couple teeth."

"What about you?"

She said the words like an invitation. I'd fuck her with two broken ribs.

"You ever felt that way about a girl?"

"No."

"Not even your fianceé?"

Least of all. "So why didn't he make his move?"

"Jake? It's just not like that between us."

Uh-huh.

"He's attractive, but we don't get the warm and mushies for each other." Sitting upright, she checked her phone, then turned the key in the ignition to wake the grunting beast. "Jake's my best friend, and that's the way we like it."

Right. And I can have just one drink.

"We should head back," she said. "He's probably at the house by now."

Bella wasn't oblivious. She just didn't want to acknowledge the alternative. Part of me wanted to tell her to take one for the team and fuck him, give Black the night of his life, if only to save him from himself. A very small part.

#

"Where've you two been?" Black looked over the back of the couch, as Bella and I walked in the house. Feet propped up on the table next to a beer and bag of chips.

"Looking for you." Bella kicked off her shoes and smacked him on the back of the head as she went to the fridge. Bending down, she glanced at me from the kitchen. "Water?"

"Please."

"Bells, grab me a beer."

Condiment jars rattled in the door when Bella slammed the fridge shut. She tossed a bottle of water at me and shoved Black's legs off the table to sit beside him on the couch.

"Hey, easy, Mighty Mouse."

"I'm not your servant."

"What's your beef?"

I took the recliner in the corner that had a "Dad's favorite chair" impression worn into the cushions. Eddie Murphy had my undivided attention on the 40-inch screen. I'd have left them to fight between themselves if I wasn't curious about Black's answer.

"Billy called. We spent all morning running around looking for you."

"Why?" Leaning back, he dug out a handful of chips, the bag left resting on his stomach. "Told you, I'm a big boy. Don't need a chaperone."

"Then where were you?"

"Went to see Harry."

"You're going back to the lumber yard?"

I glanced at Jake to see his eyes trained on the screen, a vacant expression on his face. Rather than answer, he stuffed another salty handful in his mouth.

"But you hate it there."

"Got to make money somehow."

"Why not try Newton's?"

"Jesus, Bella." Tossing the crinkled bag of chips on the coffee table, Jake took his empty bottle to the kitchen.

"You can work inside." She sat up to lean over the back of the couch. "And you don't have to worry about getting your armed sawed off. Besides, Mike doesn't come around much anymore. He's living in Seattle now."

A fresh beer hiss-popped in the kitchen before his discarded bottle clunked down on at least two more in the trash can.

"What's for lunch?" he answered.

Bella slumped down, kicking at the coffee table with her arms crossed. Her eyes drifted toward me. That was my cue. I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and headed for the porch.

It wasn't my job to take sides and get in the middle of their shit. Six weeks, tops. If Black hadn't swallowed a bullet or hung himself by then, I'd consider my service rendered.

Outside, I sat on the front steps and blew smoke at the squirrels darting across the yard and ignored my phone vibrating in my pocket. I'd accumulated a dozen missed calls since yesterday, most of them from Tanya. A few from my mother. Since two men in dress blues hadn't shown up at their doorstep, my family had all the confirmation they needed that I was alive. Beyond that, I felt no obligation to them.

Perhaps my last happy memory of my parents was more than 15 years ago. My dad took me sailing, just the two of us. I'd spent months learning knots and ropes and masts in anticipation of my first trip. With a big, glossy book spread out on my bed, I practiced bowlines, running bowlines, and bowlines on a bight.

He told me to stand on the port side. I went starboard. The boom struck me in the back of the head. I barely felt the impact of metal cracking my skull or of my body hitting the water. Everything turned a blurry shade of blue. I grasped for the surface, kicking to reach the liquid yellow sun, while the big white hull of the boat kept getting farther away.

A line was wrapped around my ankle. I'd snagged it on my way in. It was seconds, maybe. Only a minute or so before my father pulled on the rope and fished me out. We went straight back to the marina, Dad yelling the whole way about following instructions. But there was a moment there, when he grabbed my life vest and I took that first eager gasp of air and sea spray. He was so relieved and so happy I was alive. Maybe for the last time, but I saw it. It was there in his eyes.

I held my breath, watching the numbers on my phone tick by and the stick of ashes grow longer on my cigarette. My record was six minutes.

Twice a day during rehab, I had to attend group therapy. While the others went around the circle sharing their rock-bottom moments and how they'd sucked dick for crack, I held my breath, watching the second hand run around the clock on the wall. Surviving rehab, like sobriety, like the desert, was a matter of finding creative ways to challenge and distract oneself.

"Hey, Cullen?" Bella poked her head out the door. "Any relation to Carlisle Cullen?"

Three minutes, eighteen seconds. I pinched the cherry off my cigarette. "Why?"

"I think your dad's on TV. He's talking about you."

I followed her inside. Onscreen my father postured for the cameras, a perfect Aryan specimen in a buttondown shirt and khakis. Flanked by his Protestant, tummy-tucked wife, they stood against the backdrop of the American dream: a tasteful brick McMansion with a red door and two white rocking chairs on either side.

"...has inspired me. Every day soldiers like my son sacrifice for America. They and their families endure hardship in service to our country. And what do they come home to? Ten percent unemployment. An economy in free fall with no bottom in sight. And Americans know why. D.C. is broken. Congress has stalled. The Administration lacks the solutions to right this ship. Americans have worked their whole lives to provide for their families, but America isn't working for them. So what happens to men like my son? They come home from war to find the country in worse shape than when they left? We owe them better. We owe every American better. That's why, today, I am officially declaring my candidacy for Representative of Washington's Sixth District."

That motherfucker.

"Wow, Cullen. You never told me your parents are loaded."

"Did you know about this?" Bella asked.

My jaw flexed, working back and forth, grinding down the uneven surface of my teeth, while my mother stood there with her practiced, painted-on smile.

"That was the scene earlier today," the news anchor in the purple pantsuit announced from behind her LED-lit desk. "Carlisle Cullen, Chairman of Masen International, told reporters today at a press conference that he is stepping down to seek a Congressional seat in 2008. As you heard Mr. Cullen mention, his son, Sergeant Edward Cullen, was wounded in Afghanistan in February."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. From the couch, Black turned to meet my eyes.

"Sergeant Cullen was awarded the Bronze Star for Valor for rescuing a fellow soldier after a roadside bomb killed two and wounded three others during a routine convoy mission..."

I was at the top of the stairs before the anchor finished her sentence. The bedroom door slammed shut behind me. My mother's face stared up at me, flashing in my hand. I held the phone to my ear.

"Edward-"

"You fucking bitch."


End file.
